


It's a Nightmare Without You

by redambitions (viridianlight)



Series: Walk Beside Me in the Dark [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianlight/pseuds/redambitions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is screaming because Enjolras is screaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Nightmare Without You

Grantaire is pushed to his knees, his hands handcuffed behind his back and when he struggles against his bonds, he is slapped across his face. The men who brought him to this room stand to the side and make sure that he stays on his knees.

“What the fuck are you going to do?” Grantaire spits out. “I —.” Grantaire starts before the door across from him opens and an odd figure shadowed by the light behind them enters. Grantaire stares at the shape until the door closes behind them and the group is finally visible. Then, Grantaire gasped and strained against the cuffs and the strong hands on his shoulders.

It is Enjolras, but it is barely him. He is bloody, bruised and battered. His glowing blonde hair is matted and dirty, his left eye black and puffy and blood trickles from his red lips. His head hangs limply and he is being dragged between two of the men.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire cries, pushing off the ground and trying to get to him, but he is shoved to the ground, cheek grazing the rough concrete.

Enjolras’s eyes flutter open, revealing his beautiful cerulean irises. He immediately catches Grantaire’s eye and tries to pull himself towards him. “Grantaire!”

“God, someone shut that son-of-a-bitch up!” One of the men call and a torn piece of fabric is forced into Grantaire’s mouth and tied around the back of his head. “And why is he back here?” the man asks, gesturing towards Enjolras.

“He wouldn’t give us any information,” someone replies simply.

With a nod between the men, Enjolras is forced onto the plain table in the middle of the room, his wrists tied above his head and his ankles bound to either table leg. He tries to talk calmly to Grantaire but Grantaire can tell that he’s scared. There’s an edge of panic in his voice and when a knife is pressed into his chest, he freezes, his eyes following the trail of red liquid seeping from his skin as the blade dragged across his alabaster skin. Enjolras never had a high pain tolerance but Grantaire could see that he wasn’t going to let these bastards see him cry. They seem to realize this too because with a single word from one of the bigger men, the blade stabs through Enjolras’s waist and he finally screams. At this point, Grantaire’s screams are muffled because of his gag and tears stream down his grimy cheeks.

When one of them press his cigarette into Enjolras’s stomach and it earns them a little cry, a lighter is taken out from a pocket to Enjolras’s and Grantaire’s horror. A flame flicks on and it’s brought closer and closer to Enjolras’s torso. He tries to pull away from the fire to no avail. He holds his voice for as long as he can when his skin starts to blister but his screams come quickly as the men laugh. This continues until various patches of Enjolras’s skin is burned and he is nearly unconscious from pain. Tears have fallen from his eyes, catching on his pale eyelashes. Grantaire wants to hug him, kiss him and comfort him, and then kill the bastards that were doing this to him.

“Well, if this isn’t going to anything, let’s just shoot him,” the man says and draws out his pistol from his belt. Fear crept back into Enjolras’s blank eyes and when none of the others object, a bullet is lodged into Enjolras’s shoulder near his collarbone and a pained howl is ripped from Enjolras’s throat. By now, the rag keeping Grantaire’s yells in check has fallen around his neck and he’s screaming too, consoling Enjolras and pleading with the men. Another crack, another bullet flies into Enjolras’s thigh. He’s crying out in pain and thrashing and Grantaire is shouting too and he is so hurt and there’s one last bullet soaring through the air and hits Enjolras’s temple and is followed with a burst of blood and Enjolras is… Enjolras is — .

* * *

“Grantaire. Grantaire!”

Grantaire sits up with a cry, cold sweat on his face, tears down his cheeks and hands shaking violently.

“Oh god, Grantaire. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” A familiar hand is rubbing his back comfortingly and another gently cups Grantaire’s cheek.

Grantaire turns to see an angelic face staring at him, golden hair tousled and messy, sapphire orbs wide with worry.

“I — uh, I — oh, Enjolras,” Grantaire gasps as he falls into Enjolras’s embrace. His naked chest is warm, smooth and unmarked. There’s no blood on his jaw, where the faintest hint of stubble is showing and his arms which are circled around Grantaire tightly are not bruised and the best is that the man before him is  _alive_ , so very alive.

“Are you okay?” the heavenly voice of Enjolras asks once again. “What happened? Nightmare?”

Grantaire nodds, breathing in the spicy cinnamon scent that hung around Enjolras. Enjolras slides down onto his pillow and Grantaire’s head stays connected to his shoulder, his body shifting over to lay over Enjolras.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No. Just need you here,” Grantaire mumbles, searching for Enjolras’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Just need to make sure that you’re still here.”

Enjolras presses his lips to the top of Grantaire’s inky curls. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave.”

“What if someone makes you leave?” Grantaire whispers quietly as his eyelids start to droop again. Enjolras is running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, and it’s making him sleepy again.

“I still won’t go,” he replies softly.

“Okay,” Grantaire says, squeezing Enjolras’s fingers once more before he falls asleep.

* * *

Courfeyrac searches his pocket for the key that Enjolras had given him ages ago. Enjolras hadn’t answered his phone or texts the entire morning. Mow it was past noon and Courfeyrac really needed that textbook that Enjolras had taken from him, (He would later claim that he had liberated it from the prison that was Courfeyrac’s messy room.) so here he was, fiddling with Enjolras’s lock, trying to open it. (Courfeyrac had always had a bad relationship with locks. They just didn’t like him.)

“Enjolras!” he announces with a sing song voice as he comes in. “I need that book you stole from me!” When no one answers, Courfeyrac sneaks to the bedroom, determined to scare Enjolras, but instead, he finds Grantaire tucked into Enjolras’s chest, his bare shoulders peeking out from under the red sheets, and Enjolras curled around him, holding Grantaire tightly against him. Courfeyrac giggles quietly to himself and whips out his phone to snap a picture of the sickeningly cute couple. He spies his textbook on the desk and grabs it, then leaves, before Enjolras wakes up and rips his head off.


End file.
